


At Twilight (We Dance)

by Ulan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Gondor, Multi, Third Age, Wedding of King Elessar and Arwen Undómiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 04:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11638506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: After loving him for so many years, in Minas Tirith, Glorfindel finally asks Erestor to dance.





	At Twilight (We Dance)

**Author's Note:**

> I want to see my Elves in Gondor again! Here is a tamer version this time around. I miss Glorfindel pining, so here he is again. XD

"May I have this dance?"

Something to note: they have never danced together before. 

It is true; in the years - the _millennia_ \- of the longest, most devoted and precious friendship Glorfindel has ever known, he and Erestor have never once danced together. That is not for lack of desire, at least not in Glorfindel's part, for easily he can remember the many times he had looked across a table, turned at a familiar tune, searched for those intelligent eyes in the low light, and pictured what this moment could be like. He had pictured approaching Erestor -- his best and most trusted friend, secretly beloved although he doubted he was able to keep such a thing hidden for very long -- and extending a hand to him, and confessing, "For the longest time, I have wanted to dance with you."

There were many reasons why he stayed his hand, kept his lips closed. He and Erestor met in inconvenient circumstances; Glorfindel returned at a time of impending war, and fell creatures were beginning to appear and roam the land. So much of the events in the Second Age were filled with strife and ever had the two of them been in the middle of them -- in Lindon, in Eregion, and later to beautiful and beloved Imladris. There had been time enough only to forge a friendship, for in wars there is no room for love, and an ally and brother-in-arms is more useful than a lover that can distract one from duties decreed by the Valar. 

But even friendship, Glorfindel has found, can be beautiful, and can sustain him for many years. Even when peace seemed to be upon them, he found he enjoyed enough Erestor's quiet company and that he loathed risking that peaceful comfort, feared for things to change. The years have calmed the frantic beating of Glorfindel's heart from back when he first beheld Erestor in the court of the High King, so that in the later days of peace, he could stand quietly and just smile at Erestor though his regard for him never waned. He could walk with him under the stars without the need to take his hand, to converse with him and listen to the words of his lips without the need to kiss them. The desire was there, but it eventually became a behaved, timid little thing, easily kept so that in the warm light of the Hall of Fire, when there were but a few Elves around them and Erestor sat beside him listening to the minstrels, Glorfindel could stay with him happily without wanting for more. 

For so many years they remained like this, good friends that favoured the other above anyone else, so much so that people seemed to recognise it and respect it. Whenever Glorfindel returned from skirmishes or battles gone awry, the other Elves just seemed to somehow call for Erestor. Whenever Erestor was wreaking havoc and an Elf needs saving from the chief counsellor's notorious temper, Elves knew to call for Glorfindel, for no one else can appease Erestor more quickly. It is always the two of them, and people know not to look far for the other when one is already around. Things stayed like this between them for many, many years.

Something can be said about endings, however: somehow, something always changes and turns around the way of things, and resolution is found even for the longest of stories. 

Erestor is beautiful in Minas Tirith. He wears his hair down with just the sides pulled loosely and pinned at the back of his head, and his robes are a humble, lowkey evening blue, just formal and festive enough for a wedding. There in that fair city, amidst the young and the new things that shall soon lead the rest of Middle-Earth in place of the Elves, Erestor stands, one of the oldest of their kind that remain, and he watches them. 

Erestor has been weary for a long time. Glorfindel thinks back on that day when Elrond called that fateful Council, how painfully obvious it was that Erestor had wanted nothing to do with the One Ring anymore. He was too quick to suggest that it be given to someone else. They have been fighting Sauron and his Ring for the longest time, ever since the beginning when it was forged under their very noses, up to the war where they lost it, failed by Isildur's greed. That it eventually became the Halflings' quest and Estel's, and for them to be the ones to end things, only mark what has been brewing for a long time: the time of Men has come, and the Elves are fading. 

"Will you dance with me?" Glorfindel asks again, for with the look of surprise on his face, Erestor is taking a while to respond. 

Glorfindel does not really think Erestor would refuse him. Erestor never refuses him anything, is indulgent with Glorfindel despite his reputation of being strict, and has ever allowed Glorfindel more than he granted anyone else. Glorfindel therefore finds it in himself to wait patiently as the other contemplates on the invitation, considers his options. 

Eventually, as Glorfindel had expected (hoped), Erestor's hand slides smoothly into his. That hand, which Glorfindel has never held beyond the rare occasions that friendship granted them, feels soft, nearly delicate to the touch, the fingers long and slender and falling lightly against Glorfindel's tingling palm. They feel delicate, though Glorfindel knows what strength is kept within them, the skill and control that hide just beneath the surface. He greedily takes it all in, all these details, even as Erestor allows himself to be pulled out into the lawn, which has been turned into a makeshift dance floor. 

The music of the Secondborn is quite different from the Elves'. To Glorfindel's ears, their music has always sounded more raw, their voices deep and rougher, but then perhaps there lies their unique charm. Having wed with Arien shining high and brightly, Estel and Arwen had their wedding party begin quite early, and so as the Sun now sets so has the energy become more subdued. The bard now croons mellow love songs and the garden is filled with dance partners swaying to the music. 

Glorfindel pulls Erestor toward that mellow crowd. Somehow, this being their first time doing so, Glorfindel feels himself growing a bit self-conscious. Far too many of their companions are obviously lovers judging by how closely they stand, and Glorfindel wonders if Erestor is bothered by things like that. But when he turns to look at Erestor again, having found a spot for them a little to the side, he finds that Erestor is not even looking around them at all. His eyes are on Glorfindel, quietly curious, and he observes the other with a look that says, 'What are you doing?' But there is a slight upturn on his lips that eases Glorfindel's nerves, enough for him to take a fortifying breath, reach out, and carefully ease an arm around Erestor's waist. 

At least, if there is one word that Glorfindel can use to describe Erestor, it is that he is reliable. Glorfindel trusts him implicitly, for never has Erestor failed him. Most people believe them too old and too dignified for many of the things they got away with over the years -- pilfering more than their share of those rare, seasonal treats from the kitchens; consistently, for no reason whatsoever other than sheer boredom on their parts, braiding the hair of Thranduil's horse every time he came to visit (to this day, the poor king still has not figured out who kept doing so and why); or lacing Elrond's wine with... questionable things when their lord grew too melancholy in the later years without his wife. Glorfindel instigated many of those things, but ever had Erestor met him halfway, either playing along with the execution or standing watch to chase off any possible witnesses (it was rather convenient having an accomplice who scares more than half the valley). 

As with more serious things, Erestor has also only ever supported Glorfindel. When arguments grow heated, in decisions that matter, even when it means Glorfindel risking his life for the things he believes to be right, Erestor only sees him off with a brave face and encouraging words, and just later runs to his side when he returns bruised and bloodied. Erestor is less than a spouse, less than a lover, only by formality of title and because they never kissed, but if such things are measured merely by acts of devotion, then the two of them have been wed for centuries.

And so now, here, when Glorfindel has deemed the moment right for them to cross that ever looming line, it should not come as a surprise when Erestor faces him, calm and comforting. When Glorfindel wraps an arm around him, Erestor steps easily into his space so that they are face to face, bodies warm and flush together, and even leads them in that first sway. 

(It should not come as a surprise that all these happen, but it does, and for the first time in a long time, in those first few notes to the song that they share, Glorfindel's heart skips a beat.) 

With Erestor standing so close and facing him like this -- and how he loves that, the way Erestor never shies away from him -- Glorfindel's thoughts return to where they earlier were. Twilight is good on Erestor, making the light under his fair skin soft and mellow. Erestor has also seen the Trees and so has their light in him, but it has mellowed through the years, battered by time, unlike Glorfindel who returned to Middle-Earth renewed and almost young again. Many have remarked on that contrast, at least among those who are able to see the difference. Erestor is so different from him, the night to his day, the reason to his passion. He is so many things Glorfindel is not, and how beautiful that makes him in Glorfindel's eyes.

Granted, Erestor is beautiful _always_ , everywhere, in the Second Age in Lindon, in the Third Age in Imladris, and even now at the dawn of yet another age, how ever Glorfindel looks at him, he is beautiful. But there is something about that evening that makes the chief counsellor -- _former_ chief counsellor, for with them sailing so soon, Elrond had released them all from their duties -- especially so in Glorfindel's eyes. When the shadow brought by the Ring has lifted, what remains in the other is a deep melancholy tethered to nothing anymore; there is no evil left to blame, no shadow to keep fighting. After everything that they have seen and been through, Glorfindel feels it: Erestor is weary. 

"Does it make you sad?" he asks him, low and quiet in that intimate space between them. 

They have a way of speaking that no longer requires context, for their minds are never far from the same things. He can see that Erestor understands, for the counsellor smiles a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. "The moment is bittersweet, I admit," he says in a voice equally quiet. 

Glorfindel nods. "You have long wanted to sail."

It is something that has never once been said between them. Erestor is too loyal and too duty-bound to Elrond to even suggest such a thing, and Glorfindel knows that the old chief counsellor will sail only when their lord and charge has deemed himself ready to do so. 

Now, with Elrond having already decided to sail and with Glorfindel mentioning it, Erestor sighs, a sweet breath that seems tinged with relief, the air it releases touching Glorfindel's lips. "Yes," he admits. 

Glorfindel has long dreamt of the day when he can pull Erestor any time he wishes. For when he wants comfort, the counsellor would be at his disposal, happily and exclusively. Then, at times like this one, given that he can so easily recognise Erestor's moods and thoughts, long has he also desired to give comfort in the way he attempts to now, through touch, solid and warm. 

His hands touch Erestor's cheeks, cupping that precious face as he leans down so their foreheads touch. Again, so many liberties he is now taking, but they all flow out of him so naturally and Erestor accepts it all as though they have been doing things like this for centuries. Glorfindel's thumb caresses a cool cheek as he says, "I am sorry we took so long."

They dance for a while, slowly turning and swaying in time with the unfamiliar love song, barely leaving their small corner in that makeshift dance floor. Glorfindel's hand holds Erestor's again, the other arm around his waist. No one bothers them, for the people of Gondor still find it difficult to approach the Elves, and anyway, those around them seem too engrossed in each other as well, mindless of other couples. It affords them some security so that they can converse in private.

"Has much changed?" Erestor asks after a while. In Valinor, he meant, for Glorfindel had dwelt there for a long time after his death before returning to Middle-Earth. Again, Erestor need not elaborate, for Glorfindel understands.

"Very little, actually," answers Glorfindel. "Then again, it has been nearly five thousand years since I last saw those lands, so what do I know anymore?" 

Nearly five thousand years of friendship, the longest and most beautiful that Glorfindel has ever known. Nearly five thousand and only but a few years less, of loving someone as old and as settled as he was, so that although what first began as a working relationship grew to something more -- meaningful looks, always searching for the other in a crowd, a smile reserved only for one another -- little in those years changed between them. But like steadfast trees that lived through the years, his love only grew greater and stronger, its roots delving deeper until they have curled in his chest strong and inseparable from him. He would die, he knows, just fade beyond saving, were Erestor to be taken from him now. 

"Live with me," he therefore finds himself saying. His hold tightens around Erestor's hand, which Glorfindel has pressed to his chest. "In Valinor, wherever in Aman you wish to settle; I want to remain with you."

Erestor looks at him and smiles playfully. "You mean as a neighbour?"

The remark makes Glorfindel laugh. With their bedroom doors side by side back in Imladris, they have been 'neighbours' for a very, very long time. "Do not tease. You know what I mean."

Erestor laughs softly in return. He has always had the sweetest laughter, short and a tad difficult to ease out, made more precious because he does so little of it. He does, however, laugh more often around Glorfindel, and every one of those moments had felt like victory, each one stored and treasured in Glorfindel's memory as he does everything about Erestor. 

Erestor has never been one for affection. What touches they ever shared over the years have often been initiated by Glorfindel, which is why, when he does so now, Glorfindel's old heart -- which he thought has already settled and become familiar with the presence of its beloved -- picks up in pace again. Erestor touches Glorfindel's cheeks this time around as he asks, "What kind of house would you like?" 

An Elf of a few words, Erestor has long perfected conveying meaning in the simplest of sentences, and similarly with so few words now, he still manages to take Glorfindel's breath away. It takes Glorfindel a moment to calm himself again after that question, overwhelmed with possibilities. Judging by the amusement on Erestor's face and the winded way Glorfindel still feels, he likely did not succeed at calming down all that well. 

"I do not know," he breathes out. "It does not matter to me." 

"I need you to put a bit more thought in this, Glorfindel, for how ever fond I am of you, I refuse to live in a hut with but leaves over my head." 

Glorfindel laughs, nearly shaking and giddy with the thought of planning a life together. "Then, I shall build as many houses as is necessary, until one of them pleases you." 

Erestor smiles, shakes his head in that familiar way whenever Glorfindel throws silly jokes around. But then, although Glorfindel does aim for the other to smile, he is not entirely certain whether he had been merely joking. 

Erestor is warm in his arms, his sweet scent permeating the air around Glorfindel in a way it never has before. Glorfindel feels spoilt by his presence, drunk with the feel and scent of him, the sound of his laughter, the thrill of his full attention. Glorfindel therefore finds himself opening his mouth again so that ages worth of love kept hidden pours forth, and all that he desires is confessed within a single moment. 

"When we reach those shores, I will ask you to marry me."

Again, a moment heavy with significance and meaning; Glorfindel feels nearly dizzy at the release. Suddenly he feels undone, but the words have already escaped from him with no chance of being taken back. He wonders how Erestor is ever going to catch him this time around and fix him back again. 

Erestor's hands on his cheeks serve as anchor. Erestor's voice, when he speaks, is gentle, as though he knows any sign of rejection or hesitation would break Glorfindel. 

"Why not ask me now?" is what he says, and Glorfindel finally exhales in relief. Good answer.

Shakily, he says honestly, "I do not have a ring."

Not a ring he has bought, at least, but he has looked at many rings over the years. How can he not, when he knew he wanted to marry this Elf the moment he directed a smile at Glorfindel? 

"Fair point," agrees Erestor with a nod. "Woe be to the poor sap who says 'yes' without a ring."

"I thought so. And I imagine your 'yes' would not come cheap either."

"You might be surprised." Erestor meets Glorfindel's innocently curious and helplessly hopeful eyes. "Even as we speak, I am contemplating how bad could it really be..." The old counsellor smiles. "To be a sap, I mean." 

With the moonlight, with the music, with the love of his life in his arms looking at him with eyes so clear, those sweet words still fresh in his ears, it is all Glorfindel can do not to fall down on his knees in joy and praise for this perfect gift from Eru. He does not merely lean, but falls into their first kiss -- inevitable, undeniable -- his fingers burying in Erestor's dark hair as Glorfindel pulls him to himself, desperate and greedy. For all that everything around them is tinged with sadness and bittersweetness, Erestor's kiss is perhaps the only thing that is left pure, left chaste and saved for so long until the time is ripe for taking. The long wait, Glorfindel finds, has perfected Erestor's lips like wine.

And so there they stand, in the twilight of those years, together until the end. Glorfindel has already met an ending in another lifetime, but it is in that moment that he finds that not all endings are dark and frightening. 

Atop Minas Tirith, before them is spread the splendour of Middle-Earth. Soon they will be leaving these lands long beloved, and find themselves back in Valinor. Whatever sadness Glorfindel feels about that fade at least in that moment, for with Erestor thus secured to him, whatever world they alight, it can all just be good and beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I subscribe to the belief that Erestor's suggestion to pass the One Ring to Tom Bombadil alludes to the Eldar wanting to wash their hands off the wars of Middle-Earth. So much about LotR is about the end of the Elves, for from even as early as Frodo meeting Gildor's company, the first Elves we encounter are on their way to the Grey Havens to leave Middle-Earth. Erestor's suggestion therefore was not silly, as many often claim, but merely the reflection of what most Elves in those days felt: they have long seen the evils wrought by Melkor and his followers, and they did not want to play the game anymore. The Elves were tired and it was no longer their war to fight.
> 
> Find me in [tumblr](http://tagulansahulyo.tumblr.com)!


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